I want to know your lips as my fingers know the glove, to feel sin's heat upon the serpent's tongue.I want to fall as water over the cliff, attached to no thing. Naked above moonlit shimmers, bowing before the starred face and her one pale maestro.
my vine to hang heavy, fruited ripe in waters baptized,
my vine, string of salvation, to play primordial rhythms in perfect fifths, pulling forth as tide to sea and sea to tide.
take me to that place that dreams go, when banished by ignorance; open that door as I have lost the key and show me again the wonder of a cloud, a place without watch or clock, where the moon is still a place we can go. Show me again that green grass and bare feet are as brothers and that flowers know more of life in three days than we know in three years. And that the sun is as alive as we are. Take the back of your hand and rake my cheek, gather as leaves my tears and ask me not of joy or sorrow. But hold me as the tree holds the bird. And sing to me as . . .
3 comments:
This is beautiful. Simply beautiful.
--snow
Thanks Snow. :-)
as I have done. :-)
Sweet heat and dulcet shimmers, seductive fall and potent maestro, timely heavy and slick rhythms, a cadenced current of sensuality, transcendent in its loveliness.
A frightful amount of adjectives, all amounting to yet another declaration of great love for a great piece.
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